A Stranger to Me
by constantlycold
Summary: AU! set months before season one. Based off a kink-meme prompt. Almost immediately after being invalided from the war, a sickly John saves Mrs. Hudson in a fight and she introduces him to her tenant Sherlock, who is recovering from his cocaine addiction.


**This is based off a prompt from the kink meme I filled a while ago. I decided to de-anon and post it here. It's only a one-shot as of now. I'm working on getting a second chapter done, but I've been working on it for about a month and I haven't gotten far. I don't have the best track record. This is totally un-betaed nor is it brit picked. I know nothing about war or medical stuff (this is all me BSing)**

**WARNINGS FOR LANGUAGE AND WAR VIOLENCE. SPOILER WARNING FOR ONE LINE IN SEASON TWO. Pretty much just John's rank. If you can't handle that... leave.**

_Christ! It was hot. It was one of those things he figured he would never get used to. He knew how hot it was going to be before he came, yet for some reason he didn't imagine the heat and humidity with the addition of sitting in close quarters with five other men, well, four men and one woman._

_"Shut up Smith! Your just jealous Liverpool can't compete!"_

_Oh God here it goes again. It seemed every time Smith and McCoy were put in a confined space together one of them would bring up football, and the other would argue with every point made. Apparently McCoy was a huge Manchester United fan and didn't take well the criticism. Smith, born in Liverpool was the same way with his cherished club; it did make for some spectacular arguments and general entertainment for those who were watching._

_"You know, you boys should just watch rugby instead, makes trips like this a lot less painful" said Bill. John contained a soft chuckle. Bill Murray was one of John's closest friends in the army. He, like John was also a medic, he was also closer in age to John than about sixty percent of the other soldiers currently here. John outranked him by a fair bit, but that was mostly because John had joined the army at eighteen while Bill only joined when he was thirty. They were still the best of mates._

_Diana O'Connell was the lone female. John liked her. She reminded him of his sister Harry, tomboy all the way through. She was quite small, especially compared to all the men around, but she was also quite strong despite her size. She also had some of the best accuracy John has seen, a pure crack shot. He liked her, that's why she was with them today._

_It wasn't a dangerous mission at all. John's unit and another one were simply traveling to Kabul. They were to meet up with a man who apparently had information (Of course John was never told what, they never are). They were to bring him back to the base. Nothing too dangerous, it certainly didn't warrant two convoys, but orders were orders and John wasn't going to question them. If they were lucky they would be back before supper._

_Then it happened._

_BANG!_

_He heard it before he actually saw anything. A huge noise, it was then followed by the screaming of their trucks tires. Then he saw it. The vehicle driving right ahead of him must have hit a bomb or something. It exploded imminently, metal and debris flying everywhere. Lieutenant Murphy was driving their convoy and they were lucky, it was his skills that prevented them from hitting it dead on. They screeched to the left and came to a full stop._

_Everything was silent for a moment, just the sound of heavy breathing, before they heard the dreaded sound of rapid gunfire coming from their right._

_"Shit!" Yelled Smith, he and O'Connell were both seated on the right side and could pretty much feel the bullets hitting the vehicle._

_"How many are out there!" John asked. If there were more than five Afghans out there he knew they were screwed. Luckily there didn't appear to be anyone on the left side, so he and his unit could get out of the vehicle and fight. He also wanted to go inspect the other convoy to see if there were any survivors or any one he could help. That was his job, to help people._

_"Five or six, I can't tell. What do we do?" Smith asked._

_God! This was the part he hated. Everyone was looking to him to come up with a plan, as he was the captain and the most senior member here. So far he had been lucky, never been in any sticky situations like this as a captain. Sure he had been in bad spots before but that was when he was just a medic, all he had to worry about was trying to save lives and not getting blown up in the process. Now he had a whole team he had to protect! He had to come up with a plan._

_Everyone was looking to him, all their young faces looking to him to tell them what to do. He looked over his shoulder to make sure there was no sign of terrorists from his left. There wasn't. Ok. He knew what they would do._

_"Ok. We leave through the left here. Smith and O'Connell, you cover the right side of the truck. Murphy, you and McCoy take the left side. Bill and I need to go check what left of the other vehicle for survivors. You need to cover us! Understand?"_

_"Yes sir!"_

_John quickly grabbed his medical bag and was the first to step out of the convoy, followed by the rest. The smell of burnt tires and blood greeted him. He quickly scanned the area. All desert except for a couple rocks on the other side of the convoy. That's obviously where the Afghans were hiding. He then looked at the remains of the other convoy. It was about ten or fifteen feet away. He knew there were six soldiers. From this distance he could see one. She was alive, but not for long unless he got there. He could hear the gunfire that signalled his team was fighting back. He looked to Bill and caught his gaze, intense and ready. Good._

_He watched as O'Connell took out a grenade. He made eye contact with her and nodded. This was his moment where he and Bill could run the fifteen feet over to the other convoy and help his wounded men. He watched as she quickly stood up and threw it over their truck and watched as it landed perfectly beside the rocks. He heard the sound as some shocked Afghanis got up and ran. Then he took his chance and ran._

_Despite his short stature he was actually quite a quick runner and he made it the fifteen feet in no time. Bill was behind him._

_As soon as he made it to the women he recognized her immediately. It was Karen Schaffer, he had seen her around over the past couple years, never really talked to her but he always wanted to. Unfortunately this was not how he planned their first meeting to be._

_Shit! He took one look at her and knew it was already too late. She had a piece of debris impaling through her stomach, she also had a rather severe looking neck laceration. Oh well, he didn't go through all his medical training and serve through three tours just to give up when he saw someone in dire shape._

_"Schaffer? Schaffer it's me, Watson. I'm going to take a look at this cut on your neck! Just don't try to speak. Murray here is just going to check out this piece of debris here… just try to remain still and stay awake!" She was barely conscious as it was. He looked over to Bill as he quickly assessed the damage to her neck. It wasn't good. Blood was pouring freely even after his attempts to stop it. After inspecting her impaling wound through her stomach Bill looked to him and gave him a small look in disappointment. There was nothing to be done except make her comfortable._

_This was the part he hated. He never wanted to give his patients false hope, but he also didn't want to set them off in a panic._

_"Ok, Ok, Karen, we are just going to give you some morphine to make you comfortable ok?" He looked to Bill, both making the silent agreement that Bill would stay with her until she died. He wanted to go and see if he could find anyone else alive. He spared a glance back to his team, still engaged in a firefight. No one appeared to be injured though, and that was good. He couldn't immediately see any other bodies around, he would have to get into the remains of the convoy and look around the other side._

_"Yeah sure, just leave me here to die. I don't care. I mean what kind of doctor are you? You just take one look at me and decide I'm not good enough to save? I have family you know! Not even going to try are you? Useless prick!" That was definitely a female's voice. He looked back over to Diana who was still engaged in the fight. There was no way it would have been her. The only other female was Schaffer, and with her neck wound there was no way she would be able to speak that well. He looked over to Bill. His expression hasn't changed. He didn't look like he heard anything. He looked back over to Schaffer, no change… she was still dying. Jeez, maybe he is going crazy._

_He decided to ignore it. He had a job to do._

_He quickly got up and made his way to what was left of the inside of the convoy. What greeted him was literally a scene from horror movies, the ones that use excessive blood and gore._

_The smell is what hit him first, just the smell of debris and blood. It had maybe been ten minutes since the explosion and the smell was nearly enough to make him bend over and gag. He had seen a lot of bad things during his time in the army and this was sure to be one of the worst._

_He counted four mangled bodies, many of them unrecognizable. They were all dead. There was nothing he could do here. He suddenly stopped. He knew there were six soldiers in the convoy when it left base. If there were four bodies in here and Schaffer was outside, that meant someone else must have been thrown outside by the force of the explosion. Then he heard it, a soft groan coming from outside the vehicle. Shit._

_John dashed out of the vehicle as fast as he could. Now that he was on the other side he would see the wounded man. Shit! It he was on the other side. He could easily get to him but he knew he wouldn't be covered by Murphy and McCoy. He looked over to where Bill was still with Schaffer. He would have to risk it. Hopefully the Afghans would be distracted by the firefight not to notice him; I mean, obviously the wounded man was still alive, so they haven't finished him off. John just hoped that the big fat Red Cross on his arm would be enough to save him. He made his decision and ran._

_He made it to the man in less than fifteen seconds. He spared a quick glance around, he couldn't see any terrorists. Good. He quickly assessed the wounded man._

_Christ! Not man as much as boy! What the hell was this kid even doing in the army? John realized he probably looked younger than he was, but it was still a shock. He seemed to get visibly agitated when he saw John._

_"Hey! Hey! Relax. It's Captain Watson, I'm a medic. I'm here to help you"_

_"Oh, Thank God! Thank God! Please you have to help me! Please!" The boy cried. "Please, my leg! You need to save my leg!"_

_The boy clearly had some damage to his right leg. It was bloody and bent at an odd angle, but the obvious and most serious damage was done to the lad's stomach area. It was a mess of blood and dirt. It was cut open in various areas and he was bleeding profusely. John was amazed the kid was even still awake. It looked like he might be able to save him though, he just needed to clamp down all the damaged vessels and keep him alive long enough to make it to surgery. Whatever he was going to do though, he had to go it quickly before he bled out. Not to mention they weren't in the most sterile conditions._

_"It's ok. Don't worry about your leg right now. My name is John and I'm going to help you but I need you to remain calm ok? What's your name?"_

_"James… Please… just don't let me die... I don't want to die…" The boy was practically sobbing right now. John preferred to have another person with him when he was working on conscious patients, he could do the work well enough on his own but he always found it hard to try and comfort the victim while he was trying to concentrate on saving them._

_"Ok well James, I'm just going to inject you with a bit of morphine here ok? You will feel better ok? I'm going to try and save you. Don't worry, I'm a pro!" John said as he injected the wounded soldier. Now it was time to get to work. It really was more of a two person job, but Bill was still busy with Schaffer so he would have to make do, it wasn't the first time he had to do this type of thing on his own. Probably not the last either._

_"Your not going to let me die, are you John? Are you going to leave me like you left Schaffer over there? Some doctor you are… can't even save a fucking life!" John couldn't believe it. His hands were pretty much in the wounded soldier's stomach, he was pretty much passed out. No way could he be talking right now and what he was saying didn't even make sense. How could he know about Schaffer? What the hell was going on? Time seemed to slow for a moment. He was bent over James's body trying frantically to stop the bleeding. Then he heard it. Time seemed to go even slower then. The sound of a gunshot that seemed a lot closer than the ones he has been hearing. Then he felt a searing impact against his left shoulder and he screamed!_

John sprang awake, clutching his shoulder. It hurt… Christ it hurt! He had tears in his eyes. Breathe, in and out, he told himself as he tried to control his breathing. He was in the halfway house. He looked at his watch. It was quarter to four in the morning. Damn it! He had only managed about two and a half hours of sleep. He sighed, carefully massaging his left shoulder with his right hand.

It was the same one, the same nightmare. He's been having it ever since returning to England about a week and a half ago. Since waking up the first time in London he has been unable to remember many of the details leading to his injury. Bits and pieces were coming back to him in dreams, but then so were a lot of things he didn't understand. Like the voices he was hearing. All he knew for sure was the second hand information that had basically been given to him in a half conscious state. The only thing he really knows is that Bill Murray had saved his life.

God his arm hurt! He knew the bullet had entered through his back. It shattered his shoulder and severed several tendons and nerves. Upon hitting his shoulder the bullet shattered as well, creating more problems. He has had multiple surgeries on it and the doctors are still unsure whether he will ever regain full use of his arm again. This was not good news for John because he was left-handed and rarely had to use his right hand for any activities, now it was all he had. He couldn't move his left arm at all without pain. Christ! It hurt just to breathe. He was supposed to be starting physiotherapy this week. Supposed was the key word.

Realistically John should really still be at the hospital. He still had a mild fever and was constantly nauseous but he couldn't take it anymore. He had signed himself out against medical advice two days ago. John was a proud man, but he knew he wasn't stupid. His infection had mostly cleared up and all he would be doing would be sitting in a bed receiving pitying looks from all the nurses and doctors. He was some sort of war hero to them. He certainly didn't feel like one. He was never left alone and even though he knew it was necessary all the poking and prodding at his shoulder wasn't helping. He felt like he was suffocating there. He thought back to his conversation with Doctor Yemens two days ago.

"_Dr. Watson- John, I'm sorry but you shouldn't be leaving the hospital at all"_

"I don't care! I'm allowed to leave whenever I want. All my surgeries are done. I can take care of the wound myself. I'm eating solids again. I don't need to be here" He needed to get out. He needed out of this place, and soon.

"John, you've barely been conscious for more than five days. Your wound is still at risk of being infected again. You're barely eating and you're beginning to show signs of severe PTSD. You should stay here at least until you've started some physio and gained back some weight" John wasn't going to budge. He needed out of this hospital.

"Listen. I understand your concern, but I'm not an idiot. I'm a doctor. I know how to take care of myself. I'm capable of taking my meds myself. Here… how about I come in here and you can check me out and run whatever tests you want when I come in for physio?"

Doctor Yemens considered him for a moment. John certainly hoped he looked stronger than he felt.

He slowly shook his head in disapproval.

"Well I see I'm not going to win with you, so I guess I should take what I can get since I really can't force you to stay. I'm still going to write that you left AMA" John nodded.

"A nurse will be by with your meds. I'm only giving you enough to last a couple days, that way it guarantees me you will be back. I'm also going to give you a number for a therapist, Dr. Ella Thompson she's great with Army vets and I think you would really benefit from talking to her. Don't give me that look John. Even if you hadn't just been through a traumatizing experience I would recommend you talk to her, you've been in the army a long time John, it's going to take some time to re-adjust"

With that the doctor got up from the chair he was sitting in and walked to the door.

"So I will see you later this week, right John?"

John gave a fake smile.

"Sure!"

Now here he was, living in a halfway house with one useless arm.

A small part of him wanted to contact his sister Harry, but he figured she had enough problems as it is. She had been informed of his injuries; she had come to visit him on his second day awake. She hadn't stayed long. She was obviously shaken, seeing her younger brother looking half dead and in pain. Not the same man that had left for Afghanistan.

She had left without saying much, John had no doubt she was going on a drinking binge that night. She had left him her old phone, wanted him to keep in touch. John didn't particularly care for it. He had no one to call. His parents were dead and all his friends were currently fighting in Afghanistan. He noticed it was the phone Clara had given her for their anniversary. They must be having another fight.

He was so tired. All he wanted was to sleep for about two weeks; unfortunately these nightmares were making it impossible. He knew he needed sleep to heal properly, but it seemed every time he closed his eyes for more than a couple minutes he was thrust back into the world of war and bloodshed that always ended up with him getting shot. Every time he woke up it was the same, his shoulder throbbing.

Funnily enough his ruined shoulder wasn't his most serious issue. Once again he had no idea what happened once he was shot but he must have been laying in the sand and dirt for a while because he developed a near fatal infection. It's because of that infection that he doesn't remember anything before being sent back to England. It's probably the reason he was sent home. He had been unconscious the whole time, when he finally woke up in London he had still been wracked with fever and delirious, fortunately the doctors were able to get it under control and he was slowly recovering from it. They still had him on antibiotics, but the damage had already been done. He had lost a great deal of weight and was disgustingly weak. He could barely walk more than a couple feet without getting winded, if you could call it walking…

John no longer walked, he limped. This was perhaps the most disturbing thing to him. He first noticed it when the doctors were trying to get him to sit up in the hospital bed, he noted a bit of discomfort in his right leg, but not enough to concern him. Once the doctors tried to get him up and walking, that bit of discomfort turned into agony and his leg had immediately buckled under him. The doctors quickly ran almost every test available on his leg and couldn't find anything wrong with it. It was perfectly fine and there was no reason it shouldn't be able to hold John's weight. Finally Dr. Yemens deemed the pain psychosomatic, which was not surprising given the trauma John had been through. John didn't like the diagnosis, but he understood it, his leg didn't hurt when he was standing or sitting, it was just when he walked on it. The only solution the doctors had for it was a promise of a therapist and a cane. To make matters worse John couldn't even use the cane right, because of his injury he had to hold the cane in his right hand even though it was his right leg that was in pain, which just seemed to make his gait even worse.

So here he was, a useless invalided ex-Army doctor. Even with all the surgeries and physio there was no guarantee his shoulder would ever fully recover, which meant there was no way he would be able to be a practicing surgeon. It also meant he would never be able to return to the military. Those were the two things he had going for him in his life, the two things he had worked so long and hard for. Without those he was nothing.

John slowly got up; he fumbled around a bit for his cane, still not used to having to rely on it to walk. He sat on the edge of his bed, dressed in only his boxers and thin t-shirt. He reached over and opened the little dresser by his bed. He reached into and grabbed the familiar metal.

He slowly bought the gun up to his head; he pressed it against the rights side of his still slightly too warm face. Breathe in and out. You can do this, he thought. Just pull the bloody trigger and get this over with. You're a fucking useless twat! If he were a better doctor he would have been able to save Schaffer, would have tried harder to save her, not just give up. Then he would have been covered by Bill to save James, now they are both dead because of his fucking mistakes, maybe those voices he was hearing weren't just a part of his imagination, they were exactly right. Why should he get to live and they are both dead? Who would miss him if he died? Harry? She would probably just use him as an excuse to drink more. He could feel the tears welling up in his closed eyes. Damnit! When did he become such a sap? A month ago he was an army doctor in Her Majesty's Armed Forces, he practically ran into danger in hopes of saving a life, now he was sick, career-less and barely surviving on an army pension. He couldn't run now if he tried.

His finger touched the trigger, the safety was off, all it would take was a bit of pressure and he could blow his brains out. Come on John. Just do it! Breathe in and out. His hand was now shaking. Glimpses of fallen comrades flashed beneath his eyes.

Fuck. He couldn't do it. Damnit! The gun fell from his hand and onto the bed. He placed his right elbow on his knee and rested his head in his palm. His left arm was curled around his stomach. He was crying. This was not his first attempt. It was the closest he had come though. He had to get out. He couldn't take another day cooped up in here. He looked at his watch (now resting on his right hand). It was four thirty, time to get up.

John slowly got up and made his way to his small bathroom. He gazed at himself in the mirror, God could he look any worse? He looked small and tired. His skin was still flushed from his fever. His eyes were blank staring back at him. The weight loss did him no favours. It had been two days since he left the hospital and he needed a shave. He rubbed at his stubble, it wasn't too bad yet but another day or two and he would have a beard. John never grew a beard, he reminded himself too much of his father when he did, plus he had always preferred the clean shaven look. He could barely even move his left arm and he was hesitant to attempt shaving with his non-dominant right hand. He silently chuckled to himself. _Two minutes ago you held a gun to your head and now you're nervous about getting a little cut shaving?_Oh well, he might as well get used to it.

Half an hour later he left his bathroom feeling slightly more human. He had washed, shaved (without incident) and brushed his teeth. He limped over to where his clothes were. He needed to get dressed today. Normally he would be content to wander in his boxers, no need to get dressed as he wasn't going anywhere, but today he had to go to physio. Not something he was particularly looking forward to, but Dr. Yemens had only given him enough medication to get to today. He needed more. He didn't own a lot of clothes; he had spent most of his adult life abroad in the military and therefore didn't own much besides the basics. To make matters worse, with his recent weight loss most of his clothes were too big for him. It's one of the reasons he has avoided going out before today. Nevertheless he had to wear something. It was nothing a good belt and a nice jumper couldn't hide. Besides, he would rather wear as many layers as he could. He didn't have a real winter jacket so bundling up didn't seem like such a bad idea.

He looked outside. It was still dark out but he could tell it had snowed overnight. Great… just what he needed. It was still only early November and it was already snowing. This was probably not going to help him recover. He was still sick and he could barely manage to walk with his cane on nice days. He didn't want to have to think about dealing with snow and ice.

Sighing he moved over to where the last of his meds were on his table. He wasn't supposed to be taking them on an empty stomach but he had to. When John had left the hospital he had been able to eat solid foods without retching it back up but ever since leaving he has only been able to keep down a quarter of what he was eating, making him weaker than he already was. Also, since he had been attempting to take his meds with food he ended up retching those up too. Dr. Yemens was sure to notice; instead of gaining weight like he said he would he had actually lost some. He wasn't stupid, he knew this wasn't healthy, but at the same time he didn't want to have to go back to the hospital. He decided to take his meds with water, it would have to suffice. He realized he could keep liquids down well enough.

John looked back to his watch. It was a little after five. His physio appointment was at nine. He figured if he left around six that should give him enough time to make it to the hospital and perhaps stop for tea beforehand. He couldn't afford to take a cab and he couldn't walk that far so he had to rely on the Tube. Not his favourite form of transportation but he was currently living almost an hour away. It shouldn't be too bad at this hour; his trip home would be a bit rougher, filled with a bunch of kids and their parents giving him pitying looks. Oh look at that poor guy with a cane. I wonder what happened to him. John always made it a point to stand while he was on the Tube, even before his injury. Now he could just imagine trying to stand while on the Tube. His leg really didn't bother him when he was just standing in one position but someone will probably take one look at him and offer him their seat, warranting plenty of pitying looks. He would be an arse if he didn't accept it. It happened on his way home from the hospital. John hated it!

This was so frustrating for him! All his life he had been independent, he was always a proud man, he hated having to rely on others to help him.

He breathed another deep sigh. He should probably leave soon. He forgot to take into account the time it would take him to get down any staircases on the Tube, or even this building. He hasn't left since arriving here but now he recalls a big set near the entrance. The place is too cheap for elevators. Oh well, it was early enough that he could probably try and slowly get down them without anyone seeing him. He didn't want help. Besides, going down is better than going up.

With that John went back over to his clothes and grabbed another bigger jumper and pulled it over the one he was currently wearing. It looked bloody freezing outside. Then he grabbed his thin worn jacket. He really needed a new one. He then went for his cane. He brought it up to his eyesight. God what have I become? He thought. Then he turned off his small light and went to start his journey to the hospital.


End file.
